


Moments That Keep Us Moving

by citron_presse



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citron_presse/pseuds/citron_presse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casey and Severide drink together and attempt to communicate.  Coda to episode 1.07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments That Keep Us Moving

Sometime during the evening, it started to rain.  It’s pelting down the windows of the bar, blurring the view through bleeding colors from the streetlights outside.   Matt watches it absently as he nurses the empty glass from the last drink Dawson bought him before she left, a while ago now.  He doesn’t really want to stay here by himself, but he’s not sure where else to go.

The door opens and closes behind him, the wind briefly blowing in then ceasing, replaced, after a moment, by the unnervingly physical sensation of a pause just behind his left shoulder.

He turns around, with a sliver of crushed hope that it might be Hallie, apologizing, saying she’s changed her mind.

Of course, it’s not.  Of course – along the lines of him being the last person he wants to see right now - it’s Severide.

There’s just enough time for Matt to take in the tense, wrinkled brow, the narrowed eyes, the fact that Severide appears to be stopped somewhere between holding his breath and on the point of speaking, before it’s all replaced with a smirk.

“Not much of a celebration.”

Matt shrugs.  “Not much to celebrate.”

Severide nods, appearing to understand, not appearing to care very much, and sits, uninvited, wearily, on the barstool next to Matt.  He’s wet, rain glistening in his hair and on the shoulders of his battered leather jacket, and the bar develops small wet patches under his elbows as he leans forward and swallows.  “The baby?” he says returning to the exchange that passed for conversation just now.  “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

There’s an instinct to tell him about Hallie.  He was there for their engagement, he might as well be in at the end.  It doesn’t feel right, though.  A few short sentences and Severide’s unexplained, entitled taking up of space next to him aside, they’re not exactly in a place where the implosion of Matt’s life is an appropriate subject.  “Events moved on since then,” he says, and silence settles between them for a few moments, bordering on awkward, until Severide says quietly,

“What you did?  The baby?  That was pretty great.”  He looks sideways at Matt and smiles.

Despite the hours of disappointment in between, Matt relives the delivery for a moment and smiles back.  “You gonna buy me a drink then?” he challenges.

It’s been a while since they drank together.  Since Darden’s death, the most they’ve done is be in the same bar at the same time, usually at opposite ends.  Maybe it’s time?

“I, uh . . .”  Severide responds, runs one hand, agitated, through his damp hair and then pulls out his cell phone and checks the time, appears to be doing some kind of calculation in his head.

Or maybe not.  “Forget it,” Matt says, “I’ve probably had enough anyway.”  He begins to get up from the barstool.

“I didn’t mean . . .” Severide stops him.  “I just  . . . ”  He inhales sharply, struggling, frustrated, then blurts, “Of course I’ll buy you a fucking drink!  Sit the hell back down!”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” Matt accepts, his feelings somewhere between grudging, teasing and, frankly, curious, because stumbling over his words is not Severide’s style: it’s usually flat-out silence or shameless confidence.   “Scotch,” he says, settling on his stool, adding, “please,” after a beat, partly because he hears his mother’s voice in his head, mostly to hold up his end of whatever kind of reconciliation this is, and a little because he actually finds himself happy that Severide’s here, that it’s not just him, alone in a bar at 10:15 at night, watching rain run down the windows.

“Scotch,” Severide repeats to the bartender, then swallows and begins the uncharacteristic hesitation again.  “And, uh . . . ”  He sighs and rubs his right shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, before asking, “You got any coffee?”

“Coffee!” Matt has never known Severide to pass up a drink.

Severide ignores him, gaze fixed on the bartender, who nods.  “Coffee, then.  Black, no sugar.”  He pulls out his wallet and puts a twenty down on the bar.

“Coffee?”  Matt repeats, then decides to take a risk, suddenly conscious of the irony that they routinely put their lives on the line for one another, but the relatively simple act of talking has turned into a scary stalemate of self-protection. “Everything all right?”  And, okay, that’s not much, but at least it’s something different.

At first, there’s no reply, just another pause that hangs between them like it might never end, as Severide stares at the bottles behind the bar.   Then, quietly, “Shay’s pissed at me.”  The drinks arrive.  Matt sips his scotch, while Severide turns his coffee cup around in its saucer, until some of the contents slop over and he stops.  “She, uh . . .  I – fuck!”

It’s all spoken in an undertone, but the tension is palpable.   Their eyes meet, Severide’s wide-open, searching, raw, as he tries again.  “I . . .” Avoidance sneaks into his expression, mixed up with the discomfort it doesn’t quite disguise.  “She thinks I drink too much,” he mutters, clearly covering something up.

“She’s one to talk!”  Matt colludes, deliberately softening his voice to the same level as Severide’s to meet whatever he isn't saying.

“No.”  Severide shakes his head.  “She’s . . .” The breath he takes shudders through his entire body, sending a shivering echo down Matt’s spine.  When you’re someone’s lifeline, understanding, if you don’t stand in its way, is second nature.  “She’s kind of right.  I need to . . .” He trails off, shaking his head again.

Matt can tell there’s something bigger going on here, something important, something he’s not going to get the whole story about tonight, if ever, but just talking, about anything, being here, suddenly really matters.

“Hallie and I broke up,” he lays his own confession on the line.  “For good, I think.”

“I’m sorry.”  It’s genuine.

Matt smiles grimly.  “I’m hanging around here because I don’t want to go home,” he says.  “Can’t face it.”

Severide rolls his eyes and gives a slight, regretful laugh.  “Me either.”

“Want to stay here for a while?” Matt invites, then waits.

The answer is just one word, “Yeah.”  For now, it’s all that’s needed.


End file.
